The Final Homestead: EMP Survival In A Powerless World

by Hunt, James

  Failure wasn’t tolerated in their unit. But how were any of them to know about the traps waiting for them? How were they to know the farmer was that prepared?

  Emmanuel paused, grimacing from a rush of pain in his shoulder, knowing the answer to his own question. They should have never been caught off guard. They were sloppy.

  Unable to maneuver the old Humvee around the blockade that they’d set up on the west side of town, Emmanuel was forced to park the Humvee and stumble into the checkpoint on foot.

  With the help of his comrades, Emmanuel was brought to the doctor’s office, the one that had escaped during the raid by the farmer. The place was trashed, turned upside down by their previous search for medicines and the firefight that happened during the massive jailbreak.

  Two guards were placed outside of the room as the medic worked on Emmanuel. The wound was cleaned, treated for infection, and then bandaged. Finished, the medic collected his supplies and then walked out of the room, leaving Emmanuel to fend for himself against the coming inquisition.

  The patient room had no windows, but Emmanuel saw the first glow of dawn stretch down the hallway from the front windows of the building.

  A door opened at the front. The little bell attached to it jingled as if it were new, followed by slow, methodical footsteps.

  Emmanuel kept his head down when Dillon entered the room. He attempted to keep himself from shaking, but the trembling only worsened the harder he tried to keep still. The silence was maddening.

  “They blew us all to hell,” Emmanuel said, blurting out the words. “It was like they knew we were coming. We went in using a standard formation, but there were trip wires set up—” He swallowed hard, the ball of fear going down stiff and slow.

  “Five men,” Dillon said, his voice smooth and calm. “Five men went to that ranch. But only one returned.”

  Emmanuel shuddered, shaking his head. “I can still finish our mission. I will do whatever it takes. I will—”

  “If you had given all you could, then you wouldn’t have come back,” Dillon said.

  Emmanuel cried, the tears coming involuntarily despite his attempt to keep them at bay. “I’ve done so much, and I know I can do more, just—please!” He wiped his eyes, forcing himself to regain his composure, and then cleared his throat. “I can make this right. I promise.”

  Dillon remained stoic, and the silence lingered for a long time until he removed one of his gloves, exposing a terribly scarred and disfigured hand. He placed his palm against Emmanuel’s cheek and spoke with the gentleness of a father teaching a son. “Our cause is only as good as the people who serve it, Emmanuel. If one of us fails, then we all fail. Our success depends on our conviction. You have failed in your conviction.” He repositioned that rough palm on the back of Emmanuel’s head and pulled Emmanuel’s face closer to his. “And there is only one outcome for that failure.”

  “No.” Emmanuel squirmed, trying to free himself from the leader’s hold. “No, please!”

  The pair of soldiers entered the room as the leader kept him still, the cries transforming from a squirming nonsense to outright hysteria as Emmanuel’s hands were tied behind his back and he was forced from the chair.

  “No!” Emmanuel fought, using his body weight to try and keep him down, but his efforts were futile against the strength of both guards who pulled him out of the room, into the hallway, and into the light of early morning.

  Emmanuel resisted even as he was brought out into the street where his fellow comrades had gathered, along with the prisoners of the town, none of whom understood what would happen. But Emmanuel did.

  The pyre had already been constructed in the middle of the street, and Emmanuel was placed on it, tied to the wooden stake as he continued to scream, his grief giving way to anger as he pled for mercy.

  “Don’t do this!” Emmanuel’s face reddened, and the veins along his neck bulged from the manic haste to break free before he was burned alive. “I can fight him again! I’ll kill him! Just give me a chance!”

  The gasoline burned his senses as it was doused over him and the wood at his feet. Emmanuel turned his head away, no longer able to open his eyes because of the burn from the fuel. “Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this. You don’t have to burn me, you don’t have to—”

  The first flash of heat stole Emmanuel’s senses, and he drew in a breath that was all flames, burning his lungs.

  The pain came quickly and all at once, and Emmanuel’s scream remained lodged in his throat. He rocked from side to side, the flames devouring his skin, transforming it to blackened ash. It crackled and spit like a pig on a roast. His eyes shriveled up in his sockets, his tongue torched, the flames funneling down his open throat as the last bits of life drained from him.

  And all the while, Emmanuel’s comrades shed no tears because they understood that to betray was to be cleansed with the fire. It was the only way to be free of his sins and of his failure.

  Dillon kept his attention away from the fire. But not because he couldn’t stomach the sight of a man being burned alive. He wanted to see the reactions of the men. He wanted to ensure that they watched, because he wanted all of them to understand that there was no escape from the fires of truth.

  The townspeople that had been brought out to watch offered a particularly amusing expression of horror and disgust. Three of them vomited, most of it just dry heaving after having gone an entire day without food or water.

  Once the smell of burning flesh reached Dillon’s nose, he turned away, heading for his post at the edge of town, knowing that he would be forced to retaliate. Such a distraction could prove troublesome should this rancher grow bolder after killing the squad that Dillon had sent.

  Dillon stepped inside the small hardware store where he’d taken up residence and walked to the back office.

  The room was small and crammed with more boxes than it was designed to hold. A small desk with a single chair and a computer from the late eighties sat on top of it, which was scattered with pens and papers, spreadsheets, and contracts.

  Dillon enjoyed looking over the little notes that the owner had written. Memos, appointments, and reminders adorned the desk in a colorful and sporadic fashion.

  The chair squeaked as Dillon sat down, leaning back in the same manner that he suspected the owner of the store did whenever he wanted to relax after a long day’s work.

  A small part inside Dillon envied the man who owned the shop. The simple life, the day in and day out routine of repetition, like a hamster on a wheel. He wished he could have a mind like that, but he had never been one to stay stationary for very long. No, he had to move, had to get places. And all those places brought him here.

  Dillon stared down at his palms. The skin grafts that the doctors had done all of those years ago had been shoddy work, leaving behind a trail of scars that were as ugly as they were painful.

  But those burns brought him to his current path. He had a purpose, a greater directive in this life than he could ever imagine.

  “Sir?” Beckett stepped into the office. “What do you want to do with the body?”

  Dillon drummed his fingers on the desk. “Leave him in the streets. Let the fire smolder. I don’t want this lesson in failure to be forgotten.”

  “Yes, sir. And the townspeople?”

  Dillon flattened his palm against the wood and stared at one particular scar that ran the length of his index finger. “Leave them outside until the flames burn out.”

  Beckett left with a grin on his face, leaving Dillon to plan the death of James Bowers.

  28

  The morning moved slowly, no matter how many chores James tried to busy himself with, and there were plenty to get done.

  The detonations from the bombs had sent the cattle running into such a frenzy that they broke through the fence, and most of the morning was spent rounding up the herd while Zi, Jake, and James repaired the fence.

  Mick and Ken’s wives had joined them, and James had put them in
charge of the house and barn, taking stock of the supplies that were brought in by Luis.

  With their group slowly growing, James instructed Luis to dig up some of their caches and bring them back to the house to ensure that nothing had expired or gone bad. With the added people, James knew that they’d need the extra rations.

  Mick rode over, slowing when they neared the work site, his shirt drenched in sweat. “We’re only missing a half dozen, but we think they might have gone farther west along the river, maybe even tried crossing it if it was shallow enough and the water wasn’t rushing. I sent Ken to check it out, but I told him not to spend longer than an hour. I’m not going to split hairs over six cattle.”

  James nodded, resting his forearms on one of the posts. “How are we looking with the rest of the herd? Any injured?”

  “A few were fatigued and one had a limp, but I guess that just means we’ll have good dinner for tonight,” Mick said.

  James glanced back to the fence and the progress they’d already made, then checked the time on his pocket watch, wondering how Mary was holding up.

  “Dad!” Jake shouted from farther down the line and waved his hand. “We’re out of water!” He lifted the cooler they’d brought out with them, Zi standing nearby, sweating and squinting from the sunlight.

  “Head back,” James said. “It’s lunchtime anyway.”

  “What do you want us to do with the materials?” Zi asked. “And the tools?”

  “Leave them. We’ll finish up after lunch.” James waited until both climbed into their saddles before he turned back to Mick. “You should head in too.”

  “You not eating, boss?” Mick asked.

  “I’ll be over in a minute.”

  Mick rode off, but it wasn’t long before Luis rode over, staying on his mount as the horse munched on grass.

  “Everything’s accounted for at the house,” Luis said. “Food, water, weapons, and medicine. Only found two of the caches had been compromised.”

  “That’s good,” James said. “We keep half out to use, and then bury the rest for safe keeping.” He paused, and then added, “how’s the mood?”

  Luis shrugged, his horse fidgeting too. “Everyone’s a little worried, but I think the work is helping to keep their minds off of it. None of them really think it’s going to be like this for long. They’re convinced that the power is coming back on and that someone is doing something about it. I didn’t have the heart to tell them they’re wrong. I figured there would be a time and place for that later.”

  James nodded. “No, you’re right.” But he knew that it would better to tell them sooner rather than later, making sure that everyone understood the gravity of their situation. “Head on back and ring the dinner bell. I just want to get things organized before I head in.” James pushed himself off the post and dusted his hands. “Go on.”

  “You’re the boss,” Luis turned the animal toward the house and heeled it, rocketing himself over the open plains, quickly catching up to Jake and Zi, both of whom had chosen to take it slow on the way back.

  James watched all three of them until the dust from the horses’ hooves drifted back to the earth from which it came. He collected tools, putting them together, and added to the pile of unsalvageable materials. But even after he was done, James lingered behind, enjoying the silence and solitude.

  He hadn’t been able to enjoy the land like this since yesterday morning. He found it hard to believe that so much had happened in only one day. But he was thankful for today, and he’d be even more thankful for tomorrow.

  Growing hungry, James finally mounted his mare and returned to the house.

  Even before James stepped into the house, he could hear the chatter from inside, drifting through the open windows and back door. It was good to hear those voices, and James was glad to hear laughter.

  Smiling faces turned to James when he stepped inside, half of them with food hanging out of their mouths. He saw the rations and supplies that Luis had dug up, and he became anxious when he saw everything piled together.

  “Hope you don’t mind peanut butter and jelly.” Susan smiled from the counter, her fingers messy with the sandwiches ingredients as she placed another sandwich onto the pile. She was Ken’s wife. She’d been Mary’s friend, and she introduced the pair many years ago. Mary had always considered herself a prime matchmaker.

  Ken slipped up from behind Susan and placed his hand on her backside, stealing the sandwich she just placed down, and she smacked him away as he laughed.

  “Don’t get handsy in front of company.” Susan acted angry but was unable to repress her smile.

  James cleared his throat, raising his voice. “If I could speak to everyone for a moment.”

  The chatter quieted down, and every head in the kitchen turned to him. But staring at the sunburnt and sweaty faces, eyes wide and attentive, James suddenly regretted stopping all of the fun. Because what he had to say would bring more sobriety to an already dire situation.

  “You all know about the events yesterday,” James said. “It’s why we don’t have power, it’s why our cars don’t work, and it’s why I asked everyone here today.” He paused, staring at each of them in turn, looking for any skeptical expressions. He found none. “Some of you might be wondering when this is going to stop and things will return to normal. The short answer to that question is: I don’t know. The longer, more difficult answer, has to do with what I saw and experienced yesterday.”

  James went through a breakdown of everything that happened, what he saw, the terrorists, the military who retaliated, and the enemy that was so close to home in the nearby town, which drew the most nervous chatter.

  “So what are you saying, James?” Ken asked, arms crossed and standing next to his wife. “This is permanent? That we’ll be living here indefinitely?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all—”

  “But you said the military was in the city.” Mick stood from the kitchen table. “Doesn’t that mean they have a handle on things?”

  “And what about this group in the town,” Susan said, stepping from behind Ken, smearing the peanut butter and jelly that was on her hands to her sleeves and arms. “You said they came here last night? What if they come back? Are we in danger?”

  The worry quickly exploded into hysteria, people shouting over one another, and it wasn’t until James raised his hands and Luis whistled that people quieted down.

  “Let’s take it easy!” Luis said, joining James’s side. “You heard what James said. He doesn’t have a crystal ball to see when all of this is going to end. So why don’t we just all take a breath and focus on what we can control.”

  “Luis is right.” James pointed out the back door. “We have enough resources here to support all of us for at least a year. But the only way this is going to work is if we work together. Not one of us can do it on our own.”

  The group relaxed, nodding.

  “He’s right,” Ken said. “And I think I speak for all of us when I say how thankful we are to have you lead us through this.”

  The sentiments were echoed, and James removed his hat, wiping his sweaty bangs from his forehead as he bowed his head, hoping that he could blame his reddening cheeks on the heat.

  “James?” Nolan asked, stepping into the kitchen.

  The room fell silent.

  Nolan smiled. “She’s awake.”

  A collective sigh of relief filled the kitchen, and James was already in the hallway by the time he heard the dozens of congratulations that followed him all the way to her room.

  Jake was already by Mary’s side, holding his mother’s hand, when James entered the room. Mary smiled weakly when she saw him, and before she had a chance to open her lips to speak, he kissed her.

  “Hey.” Mary’s voice was sharp and raspy.

  James dropped to one knee and gently pressed his forehead against hers. “Just take it easy.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Jake said, holding Mary’s other hand. “You don’t wan
t to overdo it.”

  Mary nodded and then coughed. She glanced down at herself, rolling her eyes the way she always did whenever she was worried about the way she looked.

  “You look fine,” James said. “Jake, why don’t you get your mother some breakfast?”

  “Okay,” Jake said. “I’ll get some cinnamon rolls. I know they’re your favorite.”

  “Just clear that with Nolan first,” James said. “We don’t want to give Mom anything she can’t handle.”

  But as Jake started to leave, Mary reached for her son’s wrist and pulled him back. He leaned close and Mary said, “I can always handle cinnamon rolls.” She winked, and Jake’s laughter trailed him out of the room.

  Mary turned her head on the pillow, her hair gently falling along the sides of her face. But as relieved as he was to know she was alive, he was nervous about what came next.

  “Nolan told me about the pregnancy,” James said.

  Mary’s face slackened, but she didn’t look away. She twisted the sheet on the bed, and her eyes started to water. “I’m sorry.”

  Of the million questions that ran through James’s mind, there was only one that mattered to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Mary drew in a sharp breath, regaining her composure, and gently rocked her head from side to side. “It wasn’t something I was expecting. I mean we weren’t even trying.”

  James frowned. “Did you think I wouldn’t be excited?”

  Mary smiled sadly and then shook her head. “That’s not why I didn’t tell you.” She squeezed his hand, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I was afraid.”

  “Afraid?” James comforted her with a reassuring squeeze of his own hand. “Of what?”

  Mary wiped away the rogue tear, her lower lip trembling. “Because I don’t want another child to be sick.” She covered her face with her palm, sobbing.

  James kissed her cheek, tasting the wetness on her skin, the salt from her tears. “It’s okay.”

  “It makes me feel like a bad mother, but I—” Mary dropped her palm, her face red from crying, and she held tight to his hands. “I feel like I failed Jake, that he’s sick because of something that I did wrong, and I—” She paused, her lower lip quivering again. “And I just don’t want to hurt another child, James.”